


Please Take Your Food and Go

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, I just wanted to write about the time they stole Roadie's chair, M/M, POV Second Person, Stealing things together, You are the owner of the take away food stand and you've had enough of Junkrat and Roadhog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: You've seen enough of these two to know when they walk up to your humble stand, trouble is going to follow.





	Please Take Your Food and Go

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to jump on the bandwagon and write about a cute thing in the Junkertown map. Inspired by the fact that the stool from the Take Away stand is missing and shows up in Junkrat and Roadhog's breakfast nook, [as seen here.](https://twitter.com/pomthing/status/902863213657718784)

You’re scraping burnt pie crust off the bottom of the pan that Jackhammer was supposed to clean last night (you’re partially to blame for entrusting someone named ‘Jackhammer’ to be a thorough and cleanly employee) when you notice a shadow over the storefront. When you see the towering form of one of Junkertown’s deadliest men, it sends you about three feet into the air.

“Fuckin’ Christ! How long have you been standin’ there?” You ask him, as you try to will your heart to go back into your chest.

Roadhog stares up at the menu, not saying a word. He doesn’t even acknowledge that you asked a question, just keeps staring with those weird soulless lenses. You try to turn your attention back to mining hardened crust off this fucking pan, but you can’t quite be at ease knowing he’s looming right there.

“Just let me know whatcha want.”

He always orders the same thing: fish and chips. You’re pretty sure he’s a pecatarian, but he’s never spoken enough words to you for you to know that for sure. You’ve just noticed him scowling (as much as he can behind that mask) at anyone ordering pork off the menu.

You’ve rescued your pan from its affliction and have moved on to frying up some fish, expecting and order at any minute, but still none comes. From the way he’s swaying on his feet, it looks like maybe he’s fallen asleep? God, why did this mute freak have to choose your place to act all weird in front of? You’re just thanking your lucky stars you haven’t seen his loud, destructive, inconsiderate, pyromaniac, partner-in-fucking-crime-

“Ohhh Roadie!!!” You hear a sing-songy howl from down the street. Fuck, it’s as if thinking about that twisted freak’s face will summon him forth.

That gangly piece of shit scowls into the sunlight, hand propped over his brow as he searches. You can tell the exact moment he spots his bodyguard when he lets out a squeal of delight and comes tripping down the street.

“There ya are, ya big lug.” He leans against Roadhog, pressing his minimal weight against him and smiling with warm familiarity. “Ya left without me.”

“You were asleep,” Roadhog speaks for the first time. “Was gonna bring you something.”

“Ya were?” Rat squeaks, balling his hands up under his chin. “Mate, yer always thinkin’ of me.”

“I’m thinkin’ of fish right now.”

“Right, we can just eat here then?” Oh god, please no. “Be nice to get outta the house, have some fresh air?” Please, no, this place is called Take Away for a reason. Take it away.

Together they plop down onto the stools, which are literally tires attached to hunks of metal nailed to the ground. You’ve stapled a covering over the top to give it some bit of ambiance, but really that’s all you could be bothered to do. 

“Fish and chips for the big guy and…” Rat’s unnatural orange eyes scan the menu. “And lamb kabobs for me. For here.” He adds with a wink.

You nod, trying not to be overly friendly. These two are like stray dogs with wrecking balls attached to them- feed them and treat them kindly once, they’ll come back and destroy your place. You wait patiently as Junkrat pulls a few crumpled bills out of his pants pocket and says “keep the change” which is generous because he’s about 50 cents short, but of all people, you don’t want to start shit with these two. You just want them to leave.

But as you throw the chips in the fryer and slice up the lamb, the two are being well-behaved. Junkrat spins around on his seat, using Roadhog’s legs to continue propelling him on. Roadhog watches his partner a bit, glances around the quiet, hot afternoon streets for signs of trouble.

“Heard ya talkin’ ta Swagman this mornin’.” Rat says to his partner. “Sounds like the Queen’s ‘bout had enough of us? ‘Bout time, right, mate?”

Yes, it’s about time, you think, you hope, you pray.

“Think she’ll make us leave?” Junkrat’s voice is quieter when he says this, sheepish even, kind of unusual for Junkrat. “Might not let us inside here anymore, but maybe we can stay at our place still?”

“It’s the same,” Roadhog says to him quietly. “Might as well leave Junkertown if we can’t come inside. Can’t survive with everyone shutting us out.”

“We can survive anythin’,” Junkrat says with the confidence of a man who has survived losing two limbs. “You and me, mate.” 

Rat sits through a good five second of silence between them before he has to open his mouth again. “Remember when I jumped into the ring during the mech fight? When I dropped my boot? Bludger almost sat his mech on my head. People startin’ booin’ and throwin’ shit at me. Queen shat a brick, her face was so red.” Junkrat stops spinning and pushes his booted foot against his silent partner. “Ya jumped in there and plucked me out. Put me under yer arm, kicked down one of the doors where they release the mechs and charged me to safety.”

“‘S my job,” Roadhog says, matter-of-factly. 

“It’s not yer job to face the public humiliation that ya do just bein’ around me.”

Ain’t that the truth. Before hitching his ride to Junkrat, Roadhog was a well-respected enforcer in the service of the Queen. You wonder what made that change. Why Roadhog chose the life of being a pariah with this man. Couldn’t have been just the money, could it? Maybe he was paying that well...

Something passes between them, you wonder if you missed it when you looked down at the lamb for too long. You’re not sure if Roadhog said something you didn’t hear, but Junkrat is staring up at him like the whole galaxy is sprawled out before his eyes. How it’s possible for someone to look at another human being with that level of adoration is confusing. The fact that it’s a 500 lb monster with no face garnering that loving reverence is a mystery for the ages.

Roadhog drops a hand on Junkrat’s back, giving him a pat and snapping him out of it. Junkrat goes back to bouncing on the tire seat.

“Mate, these stools are big,” Junkrat grins, reaching over and lifting up the back of his partner's overalls. “Big enough to fit yer fat ass too!”

What happens next is a bit supernatural. You’ve seen them interact like they have been, Roadhog normally not saying much, the little guy talking on and on. But you’ve never seen this. It’s like they’re talking with a psychic link. An idea has occurred to Junkrat, the brightness that springs into his eyes generally means trouble. They stare up at Roadhog with unbridled energy and excitement. The behemoth just continues gazing down at him. You wonder if up close you can see through the lenses and into Roadhog’s eyes. You wonder if that’s what Rat is doing, connecting with the man behind the mask on some otherworldly level.

“C’mon, Roadie… the one ya have at home is so small. Remember ya said it hurts yer back? And I like when ya sit with me.”

You’re growing more concerned as you dump their meals into styrofoam boxes. Something’s changed in the few seconds you were looking down at the boxes. The two of them have their eyes fixed back on you as you close up the boxes.

“Change of plans, mate, we’ll take those to go.”

“Okay…” You say slowly. “It’s all served in takeaway boxes, so I don’t really care what-”

“NOW ROADIE!” Junkrat screams, triggering the plot, reaching across and snatching the boxes from your outstretched hands. As he does this, his bodyguard leaps to his feet and places his big hands on one of the middle stools and yanks. The metal creaks and groans but is no match for this man. The stool springs free of its connection to the ground and just like that is off to a new life in the home of Junkertown’s most disliked couple.

They run off up the road, out of the gates of the city. You can hear Junkrat’s trademarked laugh, shrill and obnoxious. Just barely over that, you think you can make out the sound of Roadhog’s low rumble, laughing along with the maniac he has chosen to shack up with.

You sigh, not even bothering to follow or protest. Some fights aren’t worth having. You pick up the wooden stool from behind the counter and drop it in place of the missing stool. It’s fine, you don’t need to sit during your 8-hour shift in this hot hell box, as long as the customers have somewhere to sit. You wonder to yourself if you can get those “Do Not Serve” posters with Junkrat and Roadhog’s faces on them that they have at Wolf’s Woods… couldn’t hurt to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr for more Roadrat trash! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


End file.
